


The Devil You Know

by claire_debonair



Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/claire_debonair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last memories Stephen has before the all-consuming darkness are fractured, violent flashes of teeth and claws, of being surrounded by growling, snarling beasts and seeing, like the eye of a storm, the door which means so much to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil You Know

The last memories Stephen has before the all-consuming darkness are fractured, violent flashes of teeth and claws, of being surrounded by growling, snarling beasts and seeing, like the eye of a storm, the door which means so much to him. That means so much to all of them, really, but he pushes that thought away with considerable effort. He's doing this for them, and there's no point thinking about what - who - is on the other side of the door. Not now. 

Then he remembers pain, bright spikes of it, before he's falling away from it all.

Later, in a brief moment of lucidity, he swears he sees Helen again, leaning over him. But the sense of déjà vu is too strong, so he lets the image fade away into blackness, where he doesn't have to think.

 

* * *

 

Much, much later, Stephen will think, maybe third time lucky, and smile at Helen's mistake.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to a feeling of fuzzy numbness, odd light and the absurd smell of disinfectant. It takes him a moment to work out that all three add up to hospital, and once he's worked that out he relaxes. What feels like hours later he identifies the strange floaty feeling as morphine, because it's the same feeling he had after being given an injection after the centipede attack. 

It occurs to Stephen that trying to explain that to anyone not 'in the know' is likely to get him sectioned, which makes him chuckle, which then turns into a weak yet hacking cough.

A nurse rushes in - well, he assumes she’s a nurse. She does something with a drip, at least, and Stephen feels the fuzziness build until he slips back into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

Its night when he wakes up again, or he thinks it is. The light is dimmer, at least, and the curtains have been pulled across. The fuzziness is still wrapped around him, and he really doesn't have the inclination to test how strong a drip he's on by moving. There's something peaceful about simply lying there, although how much of that is due to the morphine, and how much is down to him not wanting to know how badly he's injured Stephen doesn't care to think about right now.

His mouth feels like it's been stuffed full of cotton wool, and his tongue feels too big. He assumes there's water by his bed (there always is in hospitals, whether you can drink it or not), but the desire for some isn't pressing enough for him to try and get it just yet.

A noise from outside his room attracts Stephen's interest, and he slowly tilts his head in what he thinks is the right direction. A little of the fogginess lifts as he moves, and it becomes easier for him to think without having to wade through the haze of morphine. One of the nurses has bumped into the on-call doctor, by the looks of things, sending a stack of files skidding across the floor.

Stephen fades in and out of full awareness as they pick up all the scattered papers, double- and triple-checking that the right ones go into the right folders before the nurse apologises for one last time and hurries off to put them away without further incident. The doctor checks the last chart in his hand, frowning heavily. He doesn't move away, though, and Stephen tries to muster some concern that the file causing such an alarming expression is his own.

The morphine puts paid to that, which isn't really all that bad a thing.

He must have faded out again, because when he blinks his eyes open the doctor is sitting at the side of his bed, making notes in a series of quick motions that Stephen can tell will amount to little more than an illegible scrawl. Nick's writing does the same when he's in a rush, but the thought of Nick makes Stephen want the fuzziness back, so he stops thinking about that.

"Welcome back." Stephen doesn't know if he made a noise, or if the doctor is just perceptive, but then again it doesn't really matter. "We've been worried about you."

He tries to swallow but can't, mouth too dry. The doctor fetches the jug of water and helps him drink most of a cup, which gets rid of more of the fuzziness.

"How long...have...I been...out?" His voice is croaky, rough in his throat and strange-sounding. 

"Almost a week and a half, on and off. We thought we were going to lose you for a while." He lifts the cup back to Stephen's lips, gently guiding the straw so that it doesn't miss. "I'm Doctor Hargreaves, by the way. Your personal physician, if you like."

"Why..."

"Your injuries were so bad they required round-the-clock supervision, and as I'm the hospital's leading authority on large animal attacks, I got assigned to you."

Stephen shuts his eyes and thinks about that. If they think it was a large animal that gave him the injuries, then they haven't contacted Lester, and this isn't a Home Office-approved hospital. Therefore...the fog makes it difficult for Stephen to think, but he concentrates. Therefore...they might not know who he is, or have told anyone he's alive. 

Well, that's not good. 

 

* * *

 

Another bout of fuzzy numbness sends Stephen's attention spiralling away from questions and worries and injuries. He vaguely hears himself telling the doctor his first name, and that he works in London, but only half hears the comment about being a long way from home as the tide of black rises again.

 

* * *

 

Doctor Hargreaves has gone when he wakes up again, but the nurse who comes in to help him have another drink and change the dressing on his face assures him that he'll be back that afternoon. Stephen nods, and manages to ask her when he'll be allowed to have something to eat.

She smiles in the soft way that nurses have, and says she'll speak to the doctor.

That means not for a while, then.

 

* * *

 

Not having a watch or a clock near him makes it difficult to know how much time is passing as he floats in and out of a morphine haze, but by Stephen's rough reckoning he's been in the hospital for a full two weeks by the time the nurse cheerfully tells him she's been instructed to lower his morphine dosage. 

"Why is that something to smile about?" He can tease this one, with the red hair. Names are still difficult to hang on to, but she might be Jenny. Or Janie. Something like that.   

"Because it means you've healed enough to be able to cope with less drugs," which is admittedly a good thing, in theory. In practice it means an uncomfortable awareness of the plaster casts on his leg and arm, the myriad stitches covering his body and just how bloody itchy healing wounds are. He knew that already, but all things considered it feels exponentially worse than any other injury he's ever had.

Probably because it is, but logic is the last thing to come back when the morphine gets lowered. 

 

* * *

 

Another week passes, and - with the help of another nurse, Ed - Stephen manages to sit up and stay up for longer than ten minutes. The upside of this is that he can read whatever books the nurses bring in for him that day, but the downside is he realises how annoying it is to have a broken arm. The fracture isn't that bad, according to Doctor Hargreaves, a clean break that should heal without a problem, but it's still going to take at least one more week before the cast can come off.  

More worrying, at least to the doctor, are the lacerations covering Stephen's body. Changing the dressings has become a fascinating experience now that he's awake for it, watching each day as the wounds made by creatures most people know from the Jurassic Park series turn a series of interesting colours and the skin begins to knit back together.

They stopped asking him what he remembers from the 'attack' a few days after he regained consciousness, backing off when Stephen only ever answered with a bleak "I can't remember." One look in the mirror in the small bathroom he hobbles (with help) to told him that the bandages covering most of his head and part of his neck is why they stopped; temporary or maybe permanent amnesia is never spoken out loud, but Stephen can read between the lines by now.  

 

* * *

 

He wonders, lying awake at night unable to itch underneath the casts or dressings, what the rest of the team is doing. If Conner has shot anyone else, if Abby still has Rex, if-

The wonderings always end there, because he doesn't want to think about what Nick might be doing. To all intents and purposes Stephen died to save the team, but only to himself - and possibly a nurse; goodness knows what he said with the morphine in his veins - will he admit that he really did it to save Nick. 

 

* * *

 

Sarah Page joins the anomaly team the day the cast on Stephen's arm comes off. If he knew about her he'd probably be as pleased about it as he is to have the full use of his (admittedly tender) arm back, but he can't know everything.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks is a long time to be cooped up in a hospital room, even when you've as much practice at being patient as Stephen has. Doctor Hargreaves starts making noises about getting Stephen into some physiotherapy sessions, build up the muscles damaged by several predators and a month of atrophy. 

Hundreds of miles away the anomaly siren goes off, much like the adrenaline in Stephen's body at the thought of being able to do something at last. 

 

* * *

 

Stephen's first physiotherapy session doesn't exactly go well. Ten minutes in he overestimates how much he's healed, and discovers that the leg not in plaster isn't as strong as he'd thought it was. Balancing on it to move from the weight machine to the mats ends with him lying sprawled on the floor, a blinding flare of pain burning along a gash made by something's claws.

The official verdict is a sprained ankle. The unofficial verdict is that he's a bloody idiot who needs to slow down.

He's safely back in his bed, ankle strapped up with an ice-pack balancing on it, when many miles away the anomaly software begins going off erratically, stopping and starting in irregular pulses while the computers flash a variety of error warnings.

Contrary to what many might think, Connor isn't actually a complete idiot. The encryption around the software is on a level with most MI6 computers, something Lester will no doubt be talking to him about once the crisis is over. Combined with the anti-virus it means that Helen's attack only gets as far as making the system go haywire, getting deactivated before it manages to get past even one serious firewall. 

Connor spends a frantic ten minutes tracing the origin of the malicious code, fingers flying over two keyboards in a way that makes everyone in the vicinity stop what they're doing and watch him, pen held between his teeth and focusing so hard that Abby calls his name three times with no response before she puts a hand on his shoulder and he blinks at her.

When he successfully freezes the virus's retreat and tracks it down, Abby hugs him tightly and tells him he's done a good job. Bolstered by a victory all his own, Connor forgets to be shy and awkward, and grins at her with sheer happiness. Abby smiles back, and Nick turns away from watching them.  

 

* * *

 

Connor limps back into the ARC after a nasty encounter with a litter of sabre tooth pups, blood seeping into the shirt hastily wrapped around his lower leg. It's not a terribly dangerous wound, and seeing the soldiers hiding smiles at his uneven gait Conner avoids the medical centre and cleans the wound as best he can on his own.

Abby finds him ten minutes later, yelling at him for not getting the injury properly seen to even as she liberally applies antiseptic and tightly winds a bandage around it. He lets her, not because he's scared of her (although he is) and not because he couldn't get it really clean himself (although he can't) but because he sees Abby's hands shaking, and knows she needs to yell at someone to stop herself from crying.

Doctor Hargreaves gives Stephen almost the same lecture after finding him sitting trembling outside the physio centre, exhausted from making his own way there instead of waiting for the trainer. 

"Stubbornness is only a virtue if you don't drop dead first," the doctor says, and not for the first time Stephen catches himself making a mental note to quote that to Nick at some point.

The trainer, a petite woman with punk-purple hair, tells him off as well, and then makes him do a series of weight exercises for his arms.

"The priority is getting the musculature back in your legs, but you mustn't neglect the rest of your body. Five more, then rest."

"Yes ma'am." It's only half a joke, the title; he's sure she has military training, certain of the sets she gives him bringing back vivid memories of time spent in the gym with the soldiers assigned to the team.

 

* * *

 

Abby spends a frantic twenty minutes waiting for the Home Office vet to assure her that Rex's collision with a wall, courtesy of a very scared diplodocus, hasn't caused any damage beyond a bruised wing and a couple of grazes along his body.

Then she gives one of the soldiers a black eye for saying within her hearing that "It's just a bloody lizard, who cares?" 

On the same day two nurses carefully cut the cast off Stephen's leg, plaster dust going everywhere as he finally, finally, bends his knee. The bone isn't fully healed, but on the recommendation of Flora-the-physio it's come off a week early so that he can work on strengthening it as it heals.

 

* * *

 

The day Stephen gets back on the treadmill to see how much muscle tone he's lost, another two raptors speed through an anomaly.  

His language as unused muscles cramp up badly is matched by Nick's as the raptors evade a carefully laid trap and go stalking off into the depths of the school the anomaly landed them in, both men making the people around them lift eyebrows as they shock or impress.

The raptors eventually end up on their own side of the anomaly, one of them with enough tranquilisers in its bloodstream to leave it unconscious for at least a day, and Flora deems Stephen’s fitness not as bad as she'd originally thought. 

 

* * *

 

Once the first hurdles are passed - new soldiers and a new member of the team in London, a punishing routine of physiotherapy further north for Stephen - the days merge into a series of smaller goals.

In the quiet patches between anomalies Nick throws himself into studying the myths and legends that Sarah is collecting, her research covering most of one of the conference room tables. Eventually Lester, in one of his moments of humour so dry it almost goes unnoticed, hands her a plaque for the door, proclaiming it her office. 

She laughs. Nick doesn't, preoccupied, and for what feels like the hundredth time she wonders what has happened to this man, to make him so...unnaturally focused.   

The hospital gym appears to have a constant resident, as Stephen follows the plan Flora has worked out for him. It's time he got back to his teammates - to his friends - but given the state he was in when he arrived, the good doctor won't discharge him until all the tests come back clear and Flora is satisfied with his training, both of which seem unlikely. 

Something is hanging around in his bloodstream, something the doctors have never seen before. He can't exactly tell them its transfer from either a sabre-toothed cat, a predator from the future or some other animal they've only seen animated and on television, so he has to resign himself to hoping it works its way out soon. 

Conner is as frustrated when his new computer software refuses to work properly as Stephen is when he pushes himself to regain his stamina and muscle tone, both of them lying awake far into the night going over and over problems.

 

* * *

 

Six months of rest, constant checks and strict physiotherapy means Stephen is able to walk on his own two feet without feeling like he's going to faint and/or fall over, but Doctor Hargreaves still isn't happy. 

"I don't like the thought of letting you leave with this unidentified toxin in your body. It could be dangerous."

"With all due respect, Doctor, it hasn't killed me yet."  

"Mm." He doesn't look convinced. "That's what they used to say about the plague."

Stephen smiles, obediently taking a deep breath as the cool stethoscope is pressed against his back. "Flora says I'm done with my physio."

Doctor Hargreaves snorts. "She also says she's never seen such bloody-mindedness in a patient with a broken leg, a broken arm and injuries that would have killed a lesser man."

"I knew it, she likes me."

The doctor gestures for Stephen to redress, making a final notation on his chart before flipping it shut.

"You're lucky she does; she's recommended you for discharge." He gives Stephen a long look, frowning slightly. Stephen looks back steadily. "I take it you've got somewhere to go if we do release you? The CT scans show no signs of brain trauma, and I've heard you mention friends, colleagues, that sort of thing, so I'm guessing the amnesia has lifted." 

"Yes."

"Any particular reason why you didn't mention that to me?"

"I know who was responsible for the attack," he says, and isn't it lucky that he can lie on his feet. "Putting me into the system would've told them I'm alive."

"I suspected something like that. When you were found outside the hospital there was a mangled gun with you, almost unrecognisable."

Stephen blinks. "What happened to it?" He wasn't aware that doctors covered for their patients like this, or at least not ones that are still allowed to practise medicine. 

"It went into the incinerator, along with your clothes." A brief rummage through his pockets turns up a battered and bloodstained wallet, which he holds out. "This is yours."

It is indeed, even liberally smeared with dried blood. "I don't get it."

"Those wounds you had...I've seen them before."

"Where?" Alert now, not thinking about his impending departure because of why this total stranger has protected him for six months, Stephen rubs his thumb absently over one of the scars on his forearm.

"About six months ago we had a patient rushed to the ER, covered in blood. He was barely hanging on by the time we got him into surgery, the injuries were that bad. He pulled through, but crashed during the night. He held on long enough to tell me that he'd caught a glimpse of the animal that had mauled him, before he blacked out."

"What did he say it was?"

"A sabre-toothed tiger."

Stephen exhales steadily, thinking about it. "Did you believe him?"

"Not at first." Hargreaves shrugs, looking sheepish. "Would you have, if someone had said that to you, out of the blue?" He looks at Stephen’s slight smile and shakes his head ruefully. "You probably would. I found this, in one of the gashes in his leg."

Stephen takes the small perspex container, looking at the item inside. "Did you have an expert look at it?"

"Privately. He said based on the size and what-have-you, that's the tip of a much larger tooth. He couldn't tell me the modern species beyond feline, but he looked rather puzzled as he told me that, given a few million years, it could've belonged to a much bigger cat."

"Thank you," Stephen says, and stands. The container goes into the pocket of the jeans one of the nurses had found for him, and he takes the hand that the doctor holds out in a firm grip. "For everything, I mean. I'm sorry I've kept so many secrets."

"You've got your reasons, and judging by your lack of surprise about a supposed sabre-tooth attack, I imagine they're very good ones." He smiles, letting go of Stephen's hand to pass him a form. "Hand that in at the front desk, and they'll let you out. There's a train going to London in half an hour, you should just make it."

The corridors of the hospital are familiar, if not friendly. He ducks into the physiotherapy room to say goodbye to Flora, dodging her good-natured punch and giving her quick hug. The nurse on duty at the front desk is efficient and fast, wishing Stephen goodbye and good luck as he steps out of the main doors.

He's been out before - it's not a prison, after all - but the first slow trips around the gardens and then the faster jogs along the roads surrounding the hospital can't compare with knowing that this time, he doesn't have to come back. At the other end of a short taxi journey is a train, and at the end of that is-

Home.

By which he means something completely removed from bricks and mortar, and which he's been telling himself may not exist the way he remembers it. A dead team member needs to be replaced, after all.

Stephen is just sliding into a taxi, asking for the local train station, when Doctor Hargreaves comes rushing out, waving a file.

"Here," he says breathlessly, "take it. It's the patient record of the attack I told you about, and most of the police report as well; I've got a friend on the force who owes me."

It's not a thick file, but it's something. "This might be extremely helpful, thank-"

Hargreaves cuts him off. "No need. Just find out what happened, right? And tell me - if you can."

"I will," he promises, and watches as the doctor gets smaller and further away. When the hospital disappears from sight around a corner, Stephen turns to face the front and thinks about what he's going to do next.

 

* * *

 

The matrix looks particularly cold and bizarre late at night, the dim lights glinting off silver rods and casting a strangely ethereal glow on Nick as he lies underneath it. From somewhere in the ARC echoes the sound of humming computers, making Nick smile as he thinks Connor could probably tell him which room they're in, as well as the model and probably their specifications.

The differences between this team and the one he remembers aren't usually obvious, or even all that important, but the competency with which Connor handles the immense processing power in this facility is a little unnerving, even now. To Nick, who remembers that first anomaly in the Forest of Dean with Connor hunched hesitantly over his laptop, this assured and absurdly competent young man still manages to surprise him.

With the darkness pressing against the windows and no one around to tell him off for wallowing, Nick lets himself miss not just everyone the team has lost, but the people he left behind, the versions of his friends that he remembers. Claudia Brown and Captain Ryan figure in his late-night musings as well, but only briefly; too much reminiscing tends to lead to too much Scotch, and he's a little old to be able to cope with work while suffering from a hangover.

It's rare he thinks about Stephen when in the ARC. It's rare he thinks about him at all, really. It creeps up on him sometimes, looking for Stephen as they go chasing after a creature, or wanting to share a joke. Abby gets it, looks at him with an odd expression that Nick feels he might understand if he spent more time around his students and less holed up in the ARC even when he doesn't need to be there.

There aren't many people who will agree with him, but Nick is a firm believer in keeping things bottled up. It's how he copes, and if it leads to a few empty bottles around his house, well.

The only person who would tell him off is dead.

 

* * *

 

Stephen walks from the station to his flat, keeping an eye out for any changes that might not be entirely down to his six-month absence. As sceptical as he'd been at the time, Nick's claims of stepping into a different version of his world had the ring of truth to them, and it's not as if Stephen can remember how he got out of a locked room containing some seriously dangerous predators. It's entirely possible that he fell (or was pulled) through an anomaly, and it pays to be careful.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary, though. Different adverts around, and a bar he'd been to once or twice has a different name, but that's par for the course in London. Things change, and fast; it doesn't mean he's in an alternate reality.

The spare key to his flat is where he left it, surprisingly, and it still works. He'd prepared himself for an empty space, or perhaps even new tenants, but in the low light from the outside hallway everything looks the same as how he left it. At least until he turns the main light on, that is.

Clothes are spread over the bed and floor, mostly in piles but some just flung as if whoever was sorting them gave up caring where they landed. It's a job half finished, by the looks of things, and Stephen wonders who began going through his things but stopped. Helen, maybe? Looking for something in particular, or just Helen being nosy, looking at the evidence of a life she'd all but ruined?

He realises his mistake when he gets to the small kitchen and sees the glass left on the counter, a sticky, circular stain the only evidence of the hard alcohol that had been its companion. 

Wrong Cutter, same hard lump in his throat.

 

* * *

 

Staring at a ceiling feels familiar to Stephen after so long spent in hospital, and does more to make him feel at home than tidying up the mess Nick had made of his clothes had done. He'd found his laptop, buried underneath a pile of research papers that Nick had no doubt also given up sorting through, and with a few clicks he'd found out two things of considerable interest. 

One: They'd had a funeral for him. Not all that unbelievable, considering, but he can't help wondering what's in the coffin. Bricks? Or had whoever saved him, left him outside the hospital and planted the gun next to him left a body in his place, too badly mauled to be identified?

Two: He still has security clearance for the ARC systems. Which is strange, but probably Connor's way of coping.

The best thing to do would be to contact Lester, make himself known and tell them about the victim whose file is sitting on his bedside table. It'd no doubt be the recommended option, if he asked anyone, not least because he'll need to have someone change his status from 'deceased' in the official records.

But that's not what he's going to do.

 

* * *

 

Maria has been working at the university for two months. She knows her way around the computer system, the filing system, the bewildering hierarchy of staff (both in-department and overall) and how to deal with any variation of strange request that gets thrown at her on a daily basis. None of this prepares her for the man currently standing at her office door on Thursday morning, a very charming smile on his face.

Naturally she knocks a heap of files off her desk with a resounding clatter. So that's where her stapler had gone.

The visitor is by her side in a moment, kneeling to help her pick up the scattered data. Up close he's even better looking than she'd seen from her first glance, and Maria finds herself blushing and stammering. "There's really n-no need, it's fine, I can...um."

"Here." He hands her the last file, neatly back in order, and smiles again. 

"You look familiar," and why can she never remember to keep her mouth shut? "I mean, not that I see people like you every day, but-- I'm sorry." She hides her face in her hands, wishing the ground would just open and swallow her up before she makes an even bigger fool of herself. 

He laughs, thankfully. "I used to work here. There's probably some truly awful pictures of me on a wall somewhere." 

Maria lowers her hands and smiles a little, fighting back the blush again. "Not awful, I'm sure." He shrugs, looking around the office. 

"I don't like having my photo taken, so I'm generally looking in the wrong direction." The self-deprecating comment gets rid of any awkwardness, and Maria smiles properly. 

"Happens to us all," she tells him, in her usual brisk tones. "Was there something you needed help with?"

"Actually, yes. I wanted to know if a Professor Nick Cutter still works here."

"Contrary to popular opinion around the university, he does. He's mostly doing off-campus research nowadays, but he does take the occasional class still."

"Is he teaching today?" 

Maria sits down again and pulls up the Professor's schedule onto her screen, noting the information before looking up at the stranger. "Can I ask who you are?"

"An old friend. Stephen Hart. You can ask him to verify that, but I wanted this visit to be a surprise." The smile comes back, and Maria finds herself charmed in spite of University policy.

"He's taking a class in Lecture Room One. Something to do with dinosaurs, I think."

"Thank you."

"Do you need any help finding it?"

"No, I remember the way. Thank you."

It's only once he's left that Maria realises she recognises his name, but for the life of her she can't remember where she's heard it before. 

 

* * *

 

The lecture room is mostly dark, Nick running on autopilot as he makes his way through a talk he's done so many times he sometimes recites it when he can't sleep. The chances of more than half his students being awake when the lights go back on are slim, but that's why all of his presentations go onto the university system.  

He hears the door open with a creak, signalling someone slipping in, but when they don't come forward to take a seat he assumes it's another member of the teaching staff and carries on. Just another two slides and then he hits the light-switch, watching with some amusement as the class sits up straight, blinking in the sudden flood of illumination that has nothing to do with his lecture on the inhabitants of the Permian Era.

Nick gives them a moment to wake up, shutting down the room's computer even as he notices many of them looking over his shoulder at whoever walked late. He doesn't look; if it was important they would've interrupted by now. "So, any questions about that?"

The responses are the usual ones; how many fossils from this era have been found, clarifications on some finer details, what he expected. Then:

"Sir?"

"Yes...Joe?"

The student nods, which is remarkable; he teaches twice a week, when he remembers or when an anomaly doesn't get in the way, but he knows at least one name.

"Professor, Stephen has a question. Behind you."

Nick's chest tightens at that, pointless reaction to a common name. "Then Stephen should come forward and ask his question," he says, and is viciously pleased that his voice doesn't shake. He waits until the figure moving into view has settled themselves against an empty desk in the front row, then looks.

"When are you going to get a better set of slides?"

Nick feels his knees go weak, but it's shockingly easy to reply. "When my assistant gets round to making me one."

Stephen smiles. "I hear he's got more important things to do than do your job for you."

"I doubt it." There are tears threatening at Nick's eyes, hot and foolish because he didn't cry at Stephen's funeral for God's sake. He swallows against them, looks away to the rest of the class, still muttering amongst themselves about the uninvited visitor. "Okay, okay, off you go. Professor Markham will set you an essay on this in tomorrow's class, so for those of you that slept during my lecture the presentation will be on the system for you to make notes from."

They file out in a babble of voices, speaking Klingon for all Nick hears them. When the door closes on the last student he starts forward, stopping abruptly after only a few steps. 

"You're-"

"If you say dead I'll have to hit you. Don't be that clichéd." 

"Alright then." Nick grins, unable to help himself. "Am I sober?"

"Considering you're teaching, I should hope so." 

"Then you're really..."

"Dead man walking." 

"Not funny," Nick says, but he's laughing anyway. 

 

* * *

 

Jenny doesn't like the matrix. Even in the daytime it looks...out of place, which is odd because if it's going to fit in anywhere the best place would be the ARC, all futuristic glass and smooth surfaces.

Part of it might be that she doesn't understand it, but then anyone not Cutter, Professor Page or Connor is unlikely to fully grasp what they're doing. It's still fascinating, though, and more often than not she finds herself pausing in the doorway on her way past to look at it. The last few weeks have given her ample opportunity to study the damn thing, even if it still just looks like a modern art sculpture to her.

Why today is any different, Jenny doesn't know, but something slides into place. She steps into the room, nodding towards Connor as he glances up from his laptop in one corner.

There's a connection between two rods that hasn't been marked with one of the thick black loops, which isn't right. She knows that much. "Connor?"

"Mhm?"

"Connor!"

The laptop snaps shut with a loud click. It's a reflex honed by many months of being yelled at, she suspects. "Why is this one not marked?"

"What?"

"There's a point where two rods cross not marked."

Connor carefully puts his laptop down, understandably so considering the data on it is likely irreplaceable. Unless he's been on those conspiracy websites again, in which case it could get eaten by a gorgonopsid for all she cares. He threads his way into the matrix, making his way to where Jenny is pointing. 

"It's probably a new one; Nick added a rod in last night, but that's as far as he got...huh."

"Something wrong?"

"No, no, it's just...that can't be right."

Jenny sighs and resists the urge to tap her foot. "Don't tell me Cutter's put one in wrong?"

Out of the matrix, Connor stands in front of the clear board containing all their calculations and tugs absently at his scarf. "I don't--hang on." He walks around to check the co-ordinates of the rod Cutter placed in the night before, and then the one it connects with, before slowly marking it with a red loop.

"What does red mean?"

"A new anomaly."

She frowns, wondering if she's missed a development here. "I thought that was black?"

Connor looks at her, an identical frown on his face. "A new anomaly in the past."

 

* * *

 

Stephen walks into Nick's office and can't help laughing, stopping just inside the doorway to take it all in. Nick steps round him, picking his way through the clutter to get to his desk. "What?"

"It looks exactly the same." He looks round, noticing which books are new and which have been there since before he started working for Nick, sees the lack of someone else's influence and rolls his eyes at the half a dozen empty mugs scattered around the room. "I take that back, it looks worse."

"Yeah, well, my assistant took an unexpected leave of absence." Nick says, dropping his lecture notes on the top of an already precarious stack of papers. His tone is teasing, but Stephen can hear the tension underneath it.

"He sounds terrible," Stephen replies, making his way across the desk, careful where he places his feet, until he's standing next to Nick. "You should fire him."

Nick looks at him, a smile spreading across his face. "I don't think anyone else would want the job, to be honest. I'm a bit... eccentric."

"Yeah?"

"I work stupidly long hours, I never listen to advice, I'm always late for lectures, and I hate official meetings. Plus, they do say better the devil you know."

Stephen's own smile widens until he can feel the stretch in his cheeks, feeling like he did the first time he managed to finish a physio session without feeling like a piece of wrung-out cloth. "Missed you too," he says, and then Nick's hugging him tight, pulling him close. Neither of them are particularly tactile, but Stephen knows they both need this, to assure themselves that this isn't a dream. 

 

* * *

 

The light glints off the matrix as Connor slips between the metal rods, pointing out the newly marked anomaly to Sarah as Jenny watches. They still aren't any closer to working out how it's possible that an anomaly could have appeared in the past, let alone how Nick managed to put the rods in place in the tangle of metal in front of them, but that doesn't seem to bother Connor. 

He's grinning, excited by the challenge, already discussing possibilities with Sarah as she points at something on his laptop's screen. Jenny leaves them to it, knowing she's no help to them. 

The ARC is mostly in darkness, pretty much everyone else having left hours ago because they're sensible and like having a life outside of the place. The only other light than she can see is coming from Lester's office, so she heads in that direction. 

Lester looks up when she pops her head round the door, the piles of papers headed with the Home Office shield covering his desk providing an explanation for why he's still here. "Yes?"

"There's an issue with the matrix. Connor found an anomaly marked by Cutter, but it looks like it's from the past, not the future."

Lester leans back in his chair, thoughtful. "Will it be a problem?"

"I don't see how,” Jenny says, shaking her head. "It's in the past; theoretically it could change our future, but I doubt there's anything we can do about that."

"Have you asked Cutter about it?"

"His mobile is switched off, and he's not answering his home phone."

"Typical." Lester sighs, picking up his pen. "Leave it till the morning, then. A couple more hours isn't going to hurt."

"Sir."

Jenny checks in on Conner and Sarah before she leaves, smiling slightly as she sees them still debating theories and ideas at each other through the latticework of rods. Then she grabs her coat from her office and gets out of there, leaving the silent building behind her.

 

* * *

 

It's late evening by the time Stephen feels like he's finally caught up with everything that's happened since he took an enforced leave of absence, as Nick calls it. Empty takeaway containers add to the clutter on the desk, Nick rolling his eyes as Stephen tries to shuffle them into the empty bin without being seen. 

"Stop trying to tidy up."

"Someone's got to do it," Stephen replies, leaning over to grab the tray that had held Nick's Chinese. "And I know you; if I don't clear up, these'll still be here in two months time."

"That was once," Nick protests, but he helps tidy the debris into the bin all the same. He sits back down afterwards, but Stephen stays on his feet, slowly making his way around the office. It's bizarre how nothing has changed; he'd guessed, wrongly, that Nick would've hired a new assistant, because god knows he needs one to keep him in line. 

"Why didn't you hire someone new?" 

Nick shrugs. "Never got round to it. I think Maria in the office sent along some resumes, but..." He gestures to the mess of papers on his desk. "They're under there somewhere, if I didn't bin them." 

"You'd have rather drowned under the weight of your own paperwork than get another assistant?"

"Just never got round to it," Nick says, but the way he's smiling makes Stephen's chest tighten. He looks away, running the tips of his fingers over one of Nick's fossils, because they'd never done this before he left and it'd be better if they didn't do it now.

"So," he says instead, "what's my replacement like?"

"What makes you think-"

"Someone's got to keep you alive."

Nick sighs, expression one of a long-suffering man. "Annoying. He keeps trying to shoot things."

"Isn't that his job?"

"With real bullets!"

Stephen leans against a cabinet, lips twisting into a smile again. "Ah. I see how you might object to that." There's a long pause as he tries to think of something else to say, but he's already heard about the rest of the team, including Sarah Page. He glances round the room again, letting the familiar surroundings be the final assurance that yes, he's alive, he's home, he's back where he belongs. 

When Stephen pulls his attention back to Nick it's to see him with a curious expression on his face, his eyes flicking from the scar by Stephen's eyebrow to the ones revealed by his pushed up sleeves. "Nick?"

Nick looks up, startled out of his contemplation. "Sorry. I just- you're alive. I can't quite..." He laughs shortly, shaking his head; in disbelief or denial, Stephen isn't sure. Crossing the room to perch on the edge of Nick's desk, Stephen carefully takes Nick's hand and presses it to his cheek, one finger just brushing his scar. 

"I'm real. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I am." Nick doesn't move his hand away as Stephen speaks, palm warm against his skin. It was a risky move, especially considering Stephen's continued internal battle to convince himself that they're still not going down this particular road, but it's got rid of the bleak look in Nick's eyes.

"I know," Nick tells him. Then he does take his hand away, but only as far as Stephen's forearm, tracing the thick scar partially visible there. "It's just a lot to take in." He rests his fingertips on Stephen's arm for a moment longer, then stands. "Are you-- did you want to-- oh, hell, I left your place in a mess," he finishes, expression apologetic.

"You did," Stephen says with a laugh. "And as revenge I'm going to steal your spare room for the night, and you're going to cook me breakfast before we go to work tomorrow morning." At Nick's surprised look he lifts an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." But Nick's grinning, obviously happy. So much so that they're almost out of the university before he registers what Stephen had said. "Hang on, I can't cook."

Stephen rolls his eyes, feeling his universe slide back into place. "Fine. I'll make breakfast, you make the coffee."

"That's better."

"And safer."

 

* * *

 

The next morning Nick comes downstairs to the smells of fried bacon and toast floating through his house, bringing back so many memories of similar early morning meals before leaving for the university that he has to put a hand out to the wall to brace himself. He almost expects Stephen to be in his living room collecting up student essays, piece of toast in one hand and telling him to hurry up or they'll be late for morning lectures. 

Then he remembers that Stephen is here, and he shakes his head at himself as he continues into the kitchen. 

"Morning," Stephen says, looking completely at ease, like he hasn't just spent the last six months being...elsewhere. "Breakfast," he adds, pointing towards a plate filled with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast sitting on the counter where Nick likes to eat. Another rests in front of him, half-eaten, and when Nick doesn't make any move to join him Stephen frowns. "You alright?"

"I should be asking you that," Nick tells him, giving himself a mental kick and grabbing a slice of toast as he goes to make coffee. When he turns from setting up his ancient coffee maker Stephen is watching him, his patient expression is one Nick knows all-too-well. "It's just... you've been gone six months, man, and you look like you've been on holiday, not mostly dead."

Stephen shrugs, a smile starting to show at the corners of his mouth. "I had a great doctor. And my physiotherapist could give some of the Special Forces guys a run for their money."

"I know, I know," Nick reminds him, "you told me all that last night. I think the part I'm having trouble with is how unconcerned you are about it, about being back here."

"I adapt easily, remember?" Nick rolls his eyes; he knows what's coming. "If I didn't, I'd never have stayed on as your assistant. Shock to the system, that was; who knew one man could be that disorganised with his very important and irreplaceable research?"

Busying himself with pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into mugs for the both of them, Nick took a moment to say anything else. He handed one to Stephen, taking a fortifying sip of his own before continuing. "You seemed more bothered that time Connor accidentally changed the anomaly warning to 'Copacabana' than you do right now."

"I still think he did that on purpose." At Nick's head tilt and half-exasperated sigh, Stephen puts his mug down, twisting on his stool to face Nick. "Sorry. It's just... you know me. I tend to keep stuff like that bottled up. Must be a side effect of working for you," he adds, with a glance at the mostly empty bottle of Scotch sitting on the kitchen counter by Nick's elbow. 

Nick nods, agreeing, "But-"

"But I also stood in your living room for ten minutes this morning, because in the middle of this bomb-site you call a home I finally realised that I'm alive. And welcome here, apparently." He said the last awkwardly, looking away. Nick blinked, getting as far as opening his mouth to ask why Stephen thought he wouldn't be welcome in his home, and then he remembered. 

"Stephen, I'm angrier about the fact that you punched me before bloody sacrificing yourself than I am about the fact that you slept with Helen. I don't care anymore. She's not worth it." 

The expression on Stephen's face, a mixture of disbelief, hope and happiness, makes something in Nick's chest tighten. Instead of working out what it is, because he already half knows, he puts his mug down and looks around for his keys. 

"Ready to face everyone else?"

"As I'm ever going to be," Stephen smiles, and tosses him his keys. "What are the chances of an anomaly appearing in the middle of Abby's lecture about not letting you all know I was alive?"

"If I have anything to do with it, very high."

 

* * *

 

The ARC looks exactly as Stephen remembers it, down to the harried expressions of its resident scientists, technicians and other specialists. Nick points out new staff and equipment as they walk through the white corridors, explaining what various people are working on and catching Stephen up on the finer details of what he's missed. 

Then a shriek reverberates off the walls, and Stephen gets hit by someone in a plaid shirt whose face he can't see, they come at him that fast. Not expecting the attack, or the weight, Stephen falls backwards, landing on the floor in a tangle of limbs. He looks up to see Nick leaning against the wall laughing at him, making no move to help get whoever it is off him. 

"I'm going to kill you," they say, pushing themselves up and - thankfully - off. Abby holds out a hand to help Stephen stand up, her words softened by the grin on her face. 

"Don't I get a 'welcome back' first, at least?"

Abby gives him another hug, albeit a less forceful one, then holds him at arms length. "Did you not think to tell us you were alive, you idiot? We've been here, for months, thinking you were dead, trying not to mention your name so he," she jerked a hand over her shoulder to indicate Nick, "didn't go into a mood for days on end and made the rest of us feel gloomy as well. Not that we weren't gloomy, but you know what I mean."

"Abby," interrupts Nick, with what to Stephen looks suspiciously like a faint blush on his cheeks, "do you think we could go see the others before you start telling him off?"

Abby gives him a considering look before nodding, taking hold of Stephen's sleeve to tug him down the corridor after her. "Don't think this is the end, though. I want a serious word with you later."

"Yes ma'am," Stephen says, laughing when Abby tugs a little harder.

They take a detour on their way to the main floor of the ARC so that Stephen can meet Dr. Page, who stammers a bit then seems to pull herself together and tells him to call her Sarah. He talks to her for a few minutes, asking about the matrix and her work researching the myths and legends, all the while trying not to look like he's listening to the conversation Nick and Abby are having behind him. 

"Do you remember what you said when we met her, about Stephen?" he hears Abby say, and has to fight not to turn around. 

"No," Nick says, and Stephen can tell he remembers perfectly, because that's the voice Nick uses when he'd like to be anywhere else but having this conversation.

"You said he'd like Sarah more than he'd like the pristicampus," Abby says, voice pitched low but not low enough, and Stephen thinks she might be wrong about that. Sarah's nice, but he would've loved to see that. "And I say he likes you more than any dinosaur."

You're right, Stephen thinks, and then fumbles for something to say as Sarah looks at him like she's expecting an answer. If Abby says anything else he misses it, but Nick's quiet chuckle is audible, as is his answer. 

"That's because I'm practically one myself," he says quietly, and then he raises his voice to say "Sarah, mind if we steal Stephen from you? Connor'll want to see him."

"Sure. I should probably carry on with this anyway," Sarah agrees, indicating her laptop and the research-filled boards behind her. Stephen shakes her hand and then follows Nick out, casting one more look at the matrix. 

"Did you really build that monstrosity?"

"Yep."

"And other people can understand it?"

Nick elbows him lightly as they step through the doors into the main floor of the ARC, Stephen looking around as they walk across to where Connor is sitting in front of the main computer, typing rapidly at his keyboard. Nick stops behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Connor glances up for barely a second, just long enough to register who's behind him, the rhythm of his typing going uninterrupted.  
  
"I'm trying to reconfigure the anomaly detector to work out how to pick up past anomalies," he says, speaking almost as fast as he's typing, "but it's pretty complicated, and-"  
  
"And you can spare a moment to say hello to an old friend," Nick interrupts, leaning in to place one hand over Connor's and stop the rapid movement of his fingers. Connor blinks up at him before twisting on his seat, and a moment later Stephen finds himself on the floor again with Connor's weight on top of him.  
  
"Um." Connor looks down at him apologetically, pushing away and standing up before reaching a hand down to help him up. "I tripped on the, uh, you're alive?"

Stephen looks down at himself, amused. "Evidently."  
  
Connor darts in to hug him, albeit far more briefly than Abby, then pulls back already talking. "--the anomaly Nick marked, got to be. Where did you end up?"  
  
"Edinburgh," he answers, with a glance at Nick. "Not sure where exactly, the doctors never told me."  
  
"I could cross-reference known anomalies for the time frame," Connor says, words trailing off as he turns back to the main computer and calls up a new screen to work on. Stephen sees a map of Britain appear, covered in red anomaly markers, and looks at Nick, who rolls his eyes.  
  
"Some things never change, eh."  
  
"Better than the alternative," he points out. "Any chance of leaving it at that for now? I don't really want to end up on the floor for a third time."  
  
Nick grins, gesturing at an oblivious Connor. "Who else is likely to land you on the floor, apart from those two?"  
  
"Good p--"  
  
"How nice of you to inform us of your survival, Mr Hart."

Raising his eyebrows at Nick, daring him to comment, Stephen turns to see Lester looking down at him from the second floor balcony, arms folded across his chest. "Good morning, sir."  
  
"I suppose you'll want your death certificate rescinded and another job." Lester says it disapprovingly, as if Stephen has come back to life purely to put more paperwork on his desk.  
  
"Ideally, yes. Sir," he adds.  
  
"Very well," Lester says with a long-suffering sigh. He calls for an assistant, issuing orders even as he walks back to his office. Stephen shakes his head; he might not have missed Lester that much, but he's got to admit that the man does have his uses.

 

* * *

 

He leaves Nick debating some issues about the matrix with Sarah and spends the rest of the morning relearning his way around the ARC, saying hello to people he remembers and getting to know the ones who have joined the team during his absence. There're a fair few of them; he's surprised by how much the facility has expanded in what amounts to only six, almost seven months.  
  
Eventually he ends up in what passes for the armoury, and isn't particularly surprised when he recognises barely a handful of the soldiers he passes on his way there. Helen's getting stronger in her attacks, something Stephen finds sort of sad; he remembers the days when she was happy with her research and her husband, not carrying a gun and trying to kill anyone who got in the way of her plans. He pushes those thoughts away, examining the range of weapons laid out on the racks.  
  
"Can I help?"  
  
Stephen turns, a rifle in one hand, to see a soldier about his own height standing in the doorway. He glances back at the gun, realising how much of a security threat he must look like. "I'm Stephen Hart," he says after a pause, because the other man doesn't have a weapon trained on him. Yet, at least. "One of your predecessors, I suppose."  
  
That gets him a smile. "Of course. The entire facility is talking about you. I'm Captain Becker," he says, stepping closer and extending a hand. Stephen swaps the rifle to his left and shakes, nodding in recognition of the name.  
  
"You shoot at things with real bullets," he remarks, setting the weapon back in its rack. Becker laughs.  
  
"Cutter telling tales already?"  
  
"He takes it personally." He carries on surveying the room, impressed. "You've got a better range than I ever did."  
  
"Tranq guns and the odd sniper rifle?"  
  
Stephen grins. "Now who's been telling tales?"  
  
"Abby, mostly." Becker smiles wryly. "Every time I try to shoot something with live ammo, I get told how 'Stephen managed to take down a pterodactyl with a tranq gun,' or something along those lines."  
  
"That was more luck than skill," he says, remembering the rush of air and Nick almost at the edge of the roof, the pounding of his heart. "How hard is it to keep them safe now?"  
  
"You mean with Helen Cutter being how she is?" Becker asks, and Stephen nods. The soldier shrugs. "It's my job to keep them alive, regardless of how stubborn they are about running into trouble instead of away from it."

"Should be easier between the two of us," Stephen says with a smile.  
  
"I'm glad to have someone on the team who knows what they're like," Becker says, with a smile of his own. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest of the men."

 

* * *

 

They have a week's grace in which to get used to Stephen being back, for him to find his place in the team and for Nick to stop needing to talk to him once every hour or so to reassure himself that yes, Stephen is alive. Then the sirens go off in all their earsplitting, virulent glory and they end up at yet another facility that technically doesn't exist, trying to fend off both a curious set of creatures none of them have ever seen before and Helen's ever-growing forces.  
  
Nick forces aside his memories of the last time he lost sight of Stephen in a place like this, and focuses on helping Connor rig up an impromptu smoke bomb. He can hear shouting from other parts of the base, some of it sounding like Stephen, so he grits his teeth against the urge to join in and does what Connor tells him to. Like most of the things Connor creates in the middle of situations like this it's not pretty, but his hands are confident as he secures the last of the wires and makes a few final adjustments.  
  
"It's ready."  
  
"You sure this is going to work?" Nick can't help asking; it looks like the bastard child of a phone exchange and a tank of propane gas, with a few added extras for the smoke. Connor rolls his eyes and grabs his laptop, getting ready to move out.  
  
"It'll work. Come on."  
  
While they've been busy splicing wires and being careful not to blow themselves up, it's been Becker's job to herd the creatures onto the main floor of the facility. Nick wants more time to explore, because he's got the uncomfortable feeling that the whole place has the same layout as the ARC, but there's none left; he's barely up the staircase leading to the upper balcony, pushing Connor in front of him, before the first of the creatures comes scurrying into the area below them.

Through the doors leading in Nick can see Becker and a couple of soldiers, alternately firing at the ground behind the creatures to force them forwards and those of Helen's forces who are still alive and shooting. It's a close call, and Nick feels useless up on the high ground with no way to help without risking hitting one of his own team, but eventually all of the creatures are in the main area, Becker gives a thumbs up, and two of his men pull the doors to with a crash.  
  
"Ready?" He asks Connor, who is already bent over his laptop, typing rapidly.  
  
"Almost..." A few more keystrokes and Connor looks up, nods. He'd used Nick's mobile - the one he barely used anyway, and won't miss - so that the smoke bomb could be set off remotely, meaning neither of them had to be next to it, and therefore in the middle of the mass of creatures, in order to set it off.  
  
He has to trust that Connor's right in saying they'll be safe up here. "Go on th--" The sound of gunshots and a door banging open has them leaping towards the balcony rail, looking towards the doors Becker had herded the creatures through. They're still tight shut, but then Nick looks down and catches sight of a familiar person below him.  
  
"Helen!"  
  
She turns, looking for him, and someone else slams into her, knocking the gun from her hand and sending her sprawling on the floor. Nick has a moment where he seriously just wants to bang his head against the railing, because Stephen's stuck down there with Helen, a gun and several dozen quite angry-looking creatures who are starting to pay attention to the scuffle that's going on. Then he remembers Connor's frantic computer work that modified the automatic lockdown so that the doors will only open one way, and does bang his head against the rail.  
  
He looks round for Connor, but he's not there; the laptop is the only sign that up until a few moments ago Nick wasn't alone up here. Helen's blocking Stephen's route to the balcony stairs, and there's no way in hell that he can figure out how to get the doors to open long enough for Stephen to get out before things get critical down there. He grimaces in frustration and looks back down to where Stephen and Helen are now seriously fighting, the kind of hand-to-hand stuff that he's seen Stephen practising with the other soldiers.  
  
They're moving closer and closer to the creatures, though, and Nick's just contemplating firing off a warning shot to keep them back when the sound of heavily booted feet running towards him makes him twist, gun held low. It's Becker, closely followed by Connor and several others, and he lets the gun drop to his side with relief. There's rope looped over Becker's shoulder, and he leans over the railing to asses the situation as Connor skids towards his laptop, dropping to his knees with a force that makes Nick wince.  
  
"Waiting on you, Connor," Becker says, and Nick glances between them, realising they've already got a plan.  
  
"Anything I can do?"  
  
"Get in line," Becker says, passing the end of the rope down to his men; Nick catches on, taking his place at the end of the row of soldiers while Becker waits at the railing, watching Connor. "Things are getting rough down there," he warns.  
  
Connor’s typing doesn’t slow for a second. "I know, I know, I'm---"  
  
When it happens, it happens fast. One moment Connor's fingers are flying over the keyboard, and the next Becker's dropped the rope and they're hauling Stephen up with all the speed they can muster. He's barely tipped himself over the railing before Connor hits another key and the bomb goes off, great plumes of toxic smoke spreading through the mass of creatures - and Helen. Nick hurries to look down, but the smoke obscures everything and he can't make her out, if she's still down there. He's not willing to bet that she is, knowing Helen, but right then he can't care that much, because Stephen is being helped up by Becker, sporting a bloody lip and bruised knuckles.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I was checking the lower hallways for any more creatures," Stephen answers, breathing heavily. "She came out of one of the side rooms and almost crashed into me."  
  
"Bet she was surprised to see you," Becker comments dryly, hefting the re-looped rope over his shoulder again.  
  
"Stopped her dead in her tracks, so to speak," Stephen says with a grin. He looks at Nick. "I don't think she had anything to do with me being alive. Her reaction was wrong."  
  
"Right now I don't care. There are fifty or so creatures down there that're going to regain consciousness soon," Nick points out, "And I'd like to get them back through their anomaly before that happens."  
  
"Lowest level," Connor interjects, turning his laptop to show them a floor plan and pointing to one corner of it. "Why do they always put things in the same place? You'd think if they were clever enough to keep this place a secret, they'd change the layout."  
  
Becker grasps his shoulder and pulls him out into the corridor, Nick and the rest following. "Think about it later, get us there now."  
  
"Um. Okay. It's left here."

 

* * *

 

Nick's suspicions are proven right when the smoke has cleared enough for them to see the main floor again: Helen isn't there. She isn't their priority, though, and if he's honest Nick doesn't care what's happened to her.  
  
Clearing the place out takes several hours, even with the creatures far more docile than they were earlier. It makes it easier that Connor thought to bring the still-temperamental anomaly locking device with him; it lessens the chance of the creatures trying to come back through once they've been herded into the anomaly, or bringing friends, so all the soldiers can be used to keep the creatures in one group as they're moved through the facility. Nick examines one of them while they wait for Connor to open the doors, taking photos for future reference. They don't look like any creature he's seen before, living or fossilised, and that's worrying him.  
  
By the time the last creature is through they're all tired and more than ready to get back, so Connor locks the anomaly one last time and packs up the device. Nick sees Becker drop back from the men to walk by his side, taking the heavy case without a word. He looks like he's a moment away from doing something else; if Connor's shoulders droop any further with exhaustion Becker will place a hand on his lower back, maybe, and Nick can't blame him because he wants to do the same to Stephen, walking next to him with a bloody lip and some pretty impressive bruises starting to show on his face.  
  
"Helen doesn't pull her punches, eh."  
  
Stephen grins, wincing slightly when it pull the split in his lip open again. He swipes at the blood, laughing. "I think I managed to unsettle her," he says, rubbing absently at his sleeve. Nick knows there's a scar underneath, wants to take hold of Stephen's hand and stop him thinking about it. He just doesn't quite know how.  
  
"She knew we were unpredictable," he says instead, "however much she likes to say otherwise. Maybe this'll make her think twice about attacking us for a while."  
  
"Maybe," Stephen says, noncommittal, and they don't say anything else on the trip back to the ARC.

 

* * *

  
Word gets around fast on the team, especially when Abby and Sarah need to be filled in on what happened, so Nick isn't too surprised when Jenny corners him. He's showered and had the cuts he managed to pick up seen to by one of the medics, so he's in a better mood than he was half an hour ago. It still takes an effort of willpower to not seek Stephen out immediately and make sure he's okay, but he compromises by making his way to the balcony to keep an eye out for him while also being able to see everyone else.  
  
"I heard about what happened," she says, her heels clicking as she walks up to him. "Apparently you chose between Stephen and Helen."  
  
"I didn't exactly choose," he starts, but then thinks, that's exactly what he did. He could've asked Becker to send the rope down for Helen once Stephen was safely out of the way, but he didn't. "Connor's being melodramatic," he settles for saying.  
  
"It was Becker who told me that," she tells him, amusement in her tone.  
  
"Well Becker's been spending too much time with Connor," he says. "They both did well today. Connor especially."  
  
She nods, leaning on the railing next to him. He'd been right; the facility had been modelled on the ARC, which had made Lester frown and reach for the phone when he'd told them about it. "Are you going to talk to him about it?" Jenny asks after a brief pause, her tone making it clear that she's not going to let him avoid the question, or the issue. Weary from the day, Nick decides to not even try.

"Am I going to have an excruciatingly embarrassing conversation with my best friend about why he means more to me than my wife, you mean?"

"Basically, yes."

Nick looks down at the main floor of the ARC where Connor, apparently recovered and no longer exhausted, is explaining the updated anomaly software to Stephen, looking like he's even managing to make it understandable to someone who doesn't practically live in a computer. "I think I'll leave that for a few days."

He can sense Jenny rolling her eyes. "No, you won't. You'll ignore the whole thing until the next time Helen turns up and tries to set you against each other, which she will, and then it'll be as big a mess as last time. Here." A sheaf of papers is thrust under Nick's nose, and he leans back until they're far enough away from his face that he can read them. 

"Divorce papers, Jenny, are you mad?"

"No," she tells him firmly. "I'm practical. I pulled a few strings; because Helen was declared legally dead after she'd been missing for longer than seven years, all you need to do it sign these. I'd also advise you to have your locks changed, and get a security system; I'm sure Connor will be able to help with that."

Taking the papers off Jenny, and flicking through them as she waits moderately patiently, Nick tries to think of a reason to give them back, unsigned. By the time he gets to the third and final page its obvious that there isn't anything holding him to Helen anymore, apart from a sense of regret and faint anger that it should come to this. "Got a pen?"

She holds one out wordlessly, and when he's signed on the dotted line she gives him a soft smile. "For what it's worth, I think that was the right decision."

"Your efficiency is terrifying," he tells her, which he knows she'll interpret as thank you. She smiles at him and walks off towards Lester's office, leaving him to wonder how he's going to start the damn conversation.

 

* * *

 

Stephen gets the feeling that Nick wants to talk to him about something, but they never quite seem to get a quiet moment where he can make Nick spit it out; they're too busy dealing with the fall out from the facility and the possibility that someone had worked out how to genetically engineer creatures for either of them to have the time to spare for a long conversation. Even when Stephen stops at Nick’s for the night he doesn't bring it up, and when they do get enough time for Nick to go and teach, he sticks to the safe topics of students and lecture slides.  
  
By the time the anomaly detector goes off it's starting to drive Stephen mad, because he knows what the conversation is going to be about and can't decide if he wants to have it or not, so of course that's when a bomb goes off.

 

* * *

 

It's a medical research centre, so there's already an evacuation procedure in place in case of emergencies, and it doesn't take much effort to get it implemented. The smoke and falling debris helps move things along, and it's pure controlled chaos for about half an hour, the technicians running one way to evacuate and the soldiers running another way to set up a perimeter and check for any intruders. Finding the anomaly is almost an afterthought by that point, and when Sarah does track it down Stephen's relieved to hear her voice over their radios saying it's already fading.  
  
There's not much else they can do in a building that's coming down around their ears, so he joins the soldiers in checking the rooms for any stragglers before getting the hell out. Ahead of him Stephen can see Sarah climbing over rubble, and over the radio he checks that Abby's already outside, Nick with her. She sounds shaken up but not hurt, and she doesn't say anything about Nick being badly injured, so he focuses on what he's doing. Becker joins them from one of the staircases, pushing a stubborn-looking Connor in front of him.  
  
"He was up in the security control room," Becker says. Stephen lifts his eyebrows at Connor, because they'd already cleared that level, so he must have sneaked past them to get back up there.  
  
"I thought we might need the security camera footage," he protests. Stephen glances down as they make it into the main foyer, debris still falling, and sure enough Connor is clutching what looks like an external hard drive. He goes to say something, most likely about how stupid Connor was even if they will need the data, but shuts his mouth before the words make it out, because Nick is sitting in one of the jeeps, legs dangling out of the door and holding an ice pack to his head.  
  
"Get him and that information back to the ARC," he tells Becker, barely registering that the soldier is already pulling Connor away. He crosses to where Nick is sitting, noting the blood covering the hand that holds the ice pack. "What happened?"  
  
Nick blinks at him, using his free hand to wipe more blood off his face. "Falling bit of concrete, I think. Didn't get a good look."  
  
Moving round to the back of the jeep, Stephen opens the boot and pulls out the first aid kit they take everywhere, careful not to jostle Nick too much when he closes it again. "Can you swap hands for a moment?"  
  
"It's nothing," he says, but swaps the ice pack to the other hand with a sigh when Stephen glares at him. "Really, it doesn't need-- ow!"  
  
Stephen hides a grin as he carries on wiping off the dried blood with an antiseptic wipe with firm strokes. "If this gets infected Lester'll have you on desk duty for a week, or worse."  
  
"I'll have to teach all my classes," Nick says grimly, and stays silent as Stephen finishes cleaning the gash on the back of his hand and starts carefully applying strips of tape to keep it shut until one of the ARC medics can stitch it up.  
  
After a moment Stephen says, "I've got something I need to tell you about," because there's no one around and it's been long enough that he wants to talk about Doctor Hargreaves’ mystery victim, feels like he can do it without remembering locking himself in that room, and the weeks of pain that followed. It's bad enough that he has nightmares about it; deliberately making himself think about it during the daylight hasn't been high on his agenda. He reaches back into the first aid box for a bandage as Nick looks up at him and nods.  
  
"I need to talk to you about something as well," he says, and Stephen can hear the determination in his tone. He's sure now, more than ever, that he knows what it is Nick wants to talk about, but he still isn't sure if he wants to go down that road with his oldest friend. He's about to say so, that it wouldn't be a good idea, then stops himself and simply says, "Alright then," instead. Arguing with Nick about it isn't particularly something he wants to do in public, not with Abby and Sarah nearby and Jenny making her way over to them.

She sees the ice pack, and what he's doing to Nick's hand, and sighs. "The rate you lot get injured we're going to need a doctor on the team, never mind back at the ARC."

Stephen smiles up at Jenny, finishing the rough bandage he's tying around Nick's hand and thinking that things, any more bombs aside, might just be getting back to normal. He thinks about the scars running over his body, and how he made it through, and grins wider at the both of them. "I think I know a guy."

 

 


End file.
